Month: April 2012

Gary Oldman plays the self-flagellating killer with a penchant for klezmer music and huffing down keyboard-cleaner. He only kills middle-aged men weighing in excess of 300 lbs and then paints the murder scene in watercolor while sobbing and clutching a Cabbage Patch Kid.

Mickey Rourkeis the burned-out cop with a history of gourmet crystal-meth cookery and raiding the evidence room for underwear. Every internal affairs guy who has ever investigated him has been found beheaded and wearing clown shoes.

Willam Defoe – the priest who the killer confides in; when not dealing with the emotional tumult of this knowledge, he grapples with addictions to crack, the racetrack and Home Shopping Network.

Michael Madsen & Harvey Keitel– the hookers with hearts of gold.

And in true departures from past roles, Michael Douglasplays a middle-aged, affluent sex addict, while Al Pacinois the wildly-gesticulating senior detective who enjoys rattling foes with over-the-top histrionics that make no sense to anyone and seem to go on forever.

JUMPING OUT THE WINDOW WHILE NAKED AND ON FIRE – STEAMING TOWARDS A DVD PLAYER NEAR YOU!!!

The waitress’ nametag said “Maggie” and she had eyes that told you she’d had enough of it all.

Harry ordered a coleslaw and a coke. In the booth in front of him, a gang of guys in graveyard uniforms crazily gesticulated about some game that involved a ball, goals, points, whatever.

Harry began lazily flipping through the Picayune, which mostly contained stories about entertainment folks puking and collapsing in public places.

The fry cook ran out of the back with a portable t.v. “We’re fucked, we’re all fucked!” he screamed. He quickly set the t.v. down on the counter as if it were some radioactive thing. He broke a ketchup bottle and began jabbing the jagged end into his eye-sockets. It was tough to tell where the Heinz 57 stopped and the blood started.

Maggie ran over and looked down at the smashed goods that had once been the fry cook. She screamed, tore at her hair, then looked at the t.v. screen. “Holy fuck, they’re finally doing it!”

Harry drummed his fingers impatiently. Where was his meal? Was it even in progress?

Suddenly the gravediggers got up and ran en mass to the television. They immediately began grunting and slamming each other in the face with their fists. Maggie watched the now-bleeding mass of men as they shambled around and over the register, the flat percussion of the blows entrancing her.